Trickster Read Free Page A

laugh. We make a wide circle and head back. I look over my shoulder at Trickster’s hind legs. He’s still limping.
    “What do you think?” I ask Dr. Mac as we arrive back.
    “I’m pretty sure he hasn’t fractured anything, but I want to take some X rays to make sure. I’ll be right back. Brenna, I need you to help me carry some things.”
    Dr. Mac returns from the clinic carrying a portable X-ray machine. The X-ray machine is the size of a toaster oven, with a long electrical cord that she plugs into an outlet on the deck.
    Brenna brings out a box and sets it down on the deck. Dr. Mac pulls a heavy apron out of the box and hands it to Mr. Quinn.
    “Here’s your apron, Lucas.”
    “What does he need that for?” I ask.
    “The apron is lined with lead,” Dr. Mac says. “Lucas is going to help me with the X rays. This will block the radiation from his body. Or mine.” She ties on a lead apron over her jeans.
    “I can help,” I say.
    Dr. Mac pauses briefly. I hope she’s not afraid I’ll screw up. “I’ll do whatever you say,” I add.
    “All right,” she answers. “You’ll need to put on an apron, too.”
    Dr. Mac holds Trickster’s rope while I wrestle with the apron. It is way heavier than it looks. Once it’s on, I take the rope back. “Don’t laugh at me,” I tell Trickster under my breath.
    Trickster flares his nostrils and snorts once, blowing my bangs into my eyes.
    Mr. Quinn slips on giant mittens that go all the way up to his elbow. “These are lined with lead, too,” he explains to me.
    Dr. Mac takes a thin metal case the size of a big book and slides it into a slightly bigger wooden box. “The X-ray film is in here,” she says, handing the box to Mr. Quinn. “I want you to hold it by the edges and place it right behind Trickster’s sore hock.”
    Mr. Quinn pats Trickster’s rump to let the horse know he’s there—horses do not like surprises. Then he bends over and holds the X-ray box behind the sore joint in Trickster’s back leg. “Is this where you want it?” he asks Dr. Mac.
    “Perfect,” Dr. Mac says as she picks up theX-ray machine. “Stay still.” She aims the lens at the hock and pushes a button. The machine beeps once.
    “Done,” Dr. Mac says. She takes out the first X-ray film and puts another in the box. “Different angle this time,” she says as she and Mr. Quinn move around.
    Trickster twists his head around to see what’s going on.
    “Relax,” I tell him. “They’re just taking pictures.”
    When Dr. Mac has taken four different X rays, each from a different angle, she takes the film into the clinic to process it. When she comes out of the clinic a few minutes later, she looks relieved.
    “No breaks, no fractures,” she says. “I suspect that when the trailer was hit, it threw Trickster against the far wall. He hit his hock, which accounts for the bruising and cut. He must have lost his balance and twisted his hock a bit.” She points to the injured joint.
    “If he’s hurt, then how could he run the way he did when he first got out of the trailer?” I ask.
    “You have to understand a horse’s personalitybefore you make any medical diagnosis,” Dr. Mac says. “This fellow strikes me as high-spirited. Would you say that’s right, Lucas?”
    Mr. Quinn pets Trickster’s neck. “He’s young, doesn’t know his limits. Horses like this can injure themselves by pushing too hard. We have to make sure they don’t do that.” He turns to Dr. Mac. “How do you want to treat the leg?”
    “Rest, cold packs, and some anti-inflammatory medicine,” Dr. Mac answers. “I don’t think you should coop him up in a stall. He’ll go nuts. A moderate amount of gentle exercise—walking—will help.”
    “How are you going to get him back in the trailer?” I ask. “He didn’t like it very much.”
    “I’ll give him a mild sedative,” Dr. Mac says. “That ought to calm him down.”
    “I could ride in the trailer with him,” I offer.
    Mr. Quinn